“I won’t leave Westerley Crossings until we know.”
He didn’t sound happy at the prospect. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was little more than a whisper.
“So am I.” He tugged at the back of his neck again and then rose, looking distant, which was the opposite of how he’d been before she’d refused his dutiful proposal. “I’ll locate your maid.” He’d tried to take his leave from her before…
And she hadn’t allowed him to go.
No, she’d begged him to stay with her. To hold her.To show her what love felt like.
And now she knew.
She pinched her lips together rather than insist she could find her way back to her chamber on her own.
She’d already said enough.
“Make yourself scarce if anyone else comes.” He looked uncomfortable as he glanced around the orangery, which had always seemed to be such a peaceful place before but suddenly felt… sordid. “It’s not safe for you to linger here alone.”
“I rather think it was you who wasn’t safe.”
“Don’t make light of it, Felicity.” He closed his eyes. “Believe it or not, there are men far worse than me…”
And she knew that. “Most, I would say.” She jerked her chin up, refusing to appear more pitiful than she already had. “Go. I’ll be fine. And yes, I’ll hide if anyone comes. Tell Susan I’ll need—” She swept her hands down her front with a grimace. She’d been about to say her lilac silk. How unimportant that seemed now. She could not return to the ball tonight.
“New clothing,” he finished for her.
Yes.
He was almost out of sight before he turned one last time.
“Felicity?”
“Yes?”
“This isn’t over.”
Susan drapedthe cloak around Felicity’s shoulders and drew the hood over her head.
“What if somebody recognizes it?” Felicity stared at the familiar garment. It was something she’d worn on much happier occasions—in a life she’d left behind.
“We’ll enter through the kitchens and make use of the servant’s stairwell.”
Susan tied off the front of the cloak and fastened every last button so that no one would have even a glimpse of the gown beneath the billowing folds of the wrap. Her maid, who was only five years older than Felicity, clucked sympathetically, her touch compassionate. Susan took her responsibilities quite seriously, for which Felicity was incredibly grateful tonight.
“I lost my shoes.” Waiting alone in the dark had left her feeling brittle. Felicity hugged her arms across her chest, feeling separated from herself. Her actions tonight had been those of a stranger.
Only, that stranger was herself.
She shivered.
“I’ll take care of that later. His lordship is ordering a bath prepared. Let’s get you safe inside first.”
“Westerley did?” But… how did he know?
“Not Westerley—the viscount—Lord Manningham-Tissinton.”
But of course Westerley hadn’t ordered her bath! The flush creeping up her neck was one of both humiliation and shame.
Felicity huddled in her cloak while Susan steered her around the house. With her chin dipped low, Felicity kept her gaze on the floor, watching her feet, bloodied and filthy now.
